A Revolution Christmas Carol
by MDRevolutionFan
Summary: Season 1 AU loosely based on Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" with Charloe thrown in ;) Was watching Scrooge the other day (the one with Albert Finney - don't worry, this isn't a musical) and got inspired to write a Revolution version. WARNING: Major character death.
1. Scrooge & Marley (& Associates)

A/N: Background info: Miles was shot by one of Monroe's men right after that swordfight in 1.10 (sorry, but Miles represents Jacob Marley, so he had to be dead, but _because_ he represents JM, he's not gone). Charlie, Rachel, and Danny were recaptured before they could make it out of the power plant and were brought back to Monroe in time to see Miles shot. Shortly after, Monroe made Charlie marry him (to further keep Rachel in line).

The events of 1.15 didn't happen, so Emma's still alive and Monroe doesn't know about Connor, but the assassination attempt in 1.17 still happened, Jeremy's dead, and so are Aaron and Nora (killed in one of Monroe's attacks on the rebel bases after they made it out of the power plant). But since this is "A Christmas Carol", none of them are really gone either ;)

This is my first fic, hope you like it. :D

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><p>Scrooge &amp; Marley (&amp; Associates)<p>

Sebastian Monroe stood just inside the doorway of the small maintenance workshop he'd had set aside for Rachel Matheson. He'd come to hate visiting her and did so as little as possible anymore, but it had become necessary to check up on her. He'd been getting complaints from Randall Flynn that she wasn't finishing repairs fast enough, so in his desire to avoid seeing her, he'd made several attempts over the past few days to motivate her indirectly. First, he'd had her CD player taken away, leaving the CDs behind for the sight of them to taunt her. When that didn't work, he ordered the woodstove removed from the workshop, hoping the cold of Philadelphia in December would get her to work faster so she'd be allowed to leave sooner, but that hadn't worked either. Not even the looming presence of the guards constantly watching her; who were _obviously_ tired of being cold, got her to work faster. _He_ was already tired of it and he'd only been in the room for a minute! He'd finally realized he would need to be more direct if he wanted to motivate Rachel Matheson, hence this 'visit'.

Monroe had his arms crossed over his chest, watching Rachel repairing an amplifier; slowly. The five he had kept breaking down since they'd been made from parts that'd sat around fifteen-plus years collecting dust since the Blackout, and he'd made it her job to keep them and all the gadgets Flynn and his team provided him with up and running. With the arrival of Flynn and John Sanborn and the others they'd brought, he didn't need Rachel anymore, and he certainly didn't trust her with any new projects. But he did need her to ensure Charlotte didn't try to leave him, so Rachel would just have to do menial tasks until he figured out something else for her to do.

He was eager to begin conquering the other Republics and needed all his amplifiers ready to go at a moment's notice. He hoped they would all surrender as easily as the Georgia Federation had. He'd only needed to _threaten_ to detonate a dirty bomb in Atlanta. Dropping warning leaflets from a functioning helicopter had been the only show of force necessary, though he would've gone through with it if Kelly Foster hadn't surrendered so easily.

"Good morning, Rachel; so nice to see you. How've you been?" he drawled, moving from the door to stand at the end of the workbench where Rachel was working.

Rachel's only response was to throw down the screwdriver she'd been using down onto the workbench. Bass was sure she'd meant it as a veiled threat in light of what she'd done to Dr. Jaffe a few months before; but he pretended not to notice; he couldn't let her think she had any affect on him.

She sat on her stool with her head down, shoulders slumped, and her hands in her lap trying to rub some warmth into her exposed fingers; her heavy coat making her posture seem worse than it was. She wasn't looking at him; she almost never did anymore; not since Miles' death seven weeks before.

With the thought of Miles, his mind flooded with images from that horrible day: _seeing his _brother_ shot in front of him, the sound of his swords clanking on the floor as they fell from his hands before he slumped lifeless to the floor; the guard who'd shot him dropping when Monroe shot him; Charlotte falling to her knees in despair; Rachel wailing and fighting the men holding her to get to Miles..._ Monroe wanted to run from the workshop, to go _anywhere else_ where he could be alone, or better yet, to Charlotte for the comfort only she could give, but he needed to stay in control in front of Rachel, and the men present.

He was able to regain control quickly, but he was glad she wasn't facing him since he was sure the loss of control had shown on his face. He took a few steps toward her to loom near her personal space, as he often did to intimidate her. He started lazily toying with the screwdriver where it lay on the workbench, implying his own veiled threat. To anyone watching, he would've appeared distracted, but he was watching her carefully. Her eyes darted to the screwdriver only for a fraction of second and then to him; '_Message received_,' he thought.

He picked it up and began rolling it around in his hand, "Mr. Flynn tells me you're not making your repairs fast enough. The Plains Nation is ripe for the taking," he pointed the tip of the screwdriver to the amplifier in front of her as he continued, "I need all my amplifiers operational _now_, Rachel."

She didn't answer, but she finally looked at him. The way she stiffened made something occur to him, "Why does it take you so long to repair one amplifier?" He leaned in a little closer, against the workbench. "I should think you'd be in a hurry to get out of here." He made a sweeping gesture with his empty hand to indicate the room and the corner where the woodstove had been. "It's because you think it'll delay my plans, isn't it?" Her shoulders slumped a little lower, and his suspicion was confirmed. "Soon all the other Republics will hear I have power. The outcome will be the same whether I have four amplifiers or five; they'll still fall, Rachel. Hell, I probably only _really_ need one, so dawdling won't stop me, Rachel." Even though he knew the last part was probably true, he _needed_ to know they were _all_ working.

She sighed wistfully, "I miss Charlie and Danny," she said, changing the subject and completely ignoring everything he'd just said. She spoke so quietly that if he were any farther away, he wouldn't have heard her. She hadn't been allowed to see either of her children since Miles' funeral and he and Charlotte's wedding a few days after. "How are they? No one will tell me."

That had been one of his orders - that only he could tell her about Charlotte and Danny. "They're good, Rachel," he said smiling, but there was no warmth in his voice.

"You haven't hurt them?" There was panic in her voice now, but she was trying to hide it.

"I wouldn't hurt my own wife, Rachel..." Rachel shuddered slightly, apparently noticing he hadn't mentioned Danny. He was being honest; he wouldn't hurt Charlotte. Though he would do whatever was necessary to Rachel or Danny. He supposed that _would_ hurt Charlotte's _feelings_ and make her hate him more, but he wouldn't actually hurt _her_.

"I want to see them," she said firmly, apparently wanting proof they were indeed 'good'.

Before he could say anything, she turned on her stool to fully face him and continued, "Please, Bass, it's Christmas Eve. Can't I see them today? It's been years since I got to spend Christmas with them."

He'd forgotten what day it was; he'd pretty much ignored all holidays since Shelley... '_No!_' He wouldn't let his thoughts wander again.

He was sure she was up to something, like planning an escape, but he _needed_ all his amplifiers functional and the things he'd tried hadn't made her work any faster. Letting Rachel see her kids felt too much like rewarding her, but if the proverbial carrot worked, it'd be worth it and it might make Charlotte happy too. "OK, Rachel; _If_ all five amplifiers are working," he gestured, using the screwdriver, to the amplifier she'd been working on and the other one behind it waiting to be serviced, "by dinnertime, I'll _consider_ it," he said dismissively.

"They will be," she said, sitting up straighter.

She was definitely up to something. He gave her his fake smile again, "Good, I'll leave you to it then."

With that, he handed her the screwdriver, put his now cold hands in his coat pockets, and turned to leave the room, flanked on either side by his guards.

On his way out, he caught sight of something moving outside the window out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to see what it was, it was gone. '_Must've started snowing,_' he thought.

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That evening around dinnertime, Bass sat at his desk in his office reading field reports from Georgia while he waited to find out if Rachel finished her work; the takeover was going well. Charlotte was lounging on the sofa, leaning back against one of its arms, looking bored and idly playing with a tassel on the pillow she was holding. Usually, unless there was an official function, they had their meals alone in their quarters, but he'd had her brought to his office incase Flynn had good news. He wished he could pass the time by joining her and doing what they normally did whenever he'd have her brought to his office, but he did _not_ want Flynn walking in on that, so he occupied himself with the reports.

He'd thought about having her wear the uniform he'd had made for her that matched his, down to the M-insignia collar pins for her visit with Rachel, just to see the look on her face, but decided that'd be too much, so he just asked her to wear something nice. She chose a simple dark green dress. He chuckled at the thought of Rachel's face seeing Charlotte in the uniform which made Charlotte look up, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said grinning at her. He watched her long enough to see her shake her head disbelievingly and then look down at her lap, then went back to his report.

Ever since Miles died, Charlotte had lost a little bit of the fire that'd made Monroe want her from the moment he met her, but today, she seemed really down. He allowed her to see her brother every day since she seemed to be the only person who could keep his asthma attacks at bay. He wondered if something happened with Danny earlier.

He finished reading and decided to talk to her. "What's bothering you, Charlotte?" he tried to sound caring, but wasn't sure she'd believe he did. He stood up and went to her.

"Nothing," she said resignedly, putting the pillow down and shifting her position on the sofa so that she was sitting against its back as he moved to sit beside her.

He could tell she was lying. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer, "If you don't tell me what's wrong, how can I help you?" He leaned closer and kissed her temple. He really did want her to be happy.

Before she had a chance to answer, _if_ she was going to, he didn't really know, there was a knock on the door. He turned his head in time to see it open for Mr. Flynn. The guards had been told to send him right in, or Monroe would've been angry at the interruption, though he was still annoyed since Flynn was keeping him from getting an answer from Charlotte.

Flynn walked into the office, coming to a stop across from the sofa. "Good evening, General." Noticing Charlotte, he added, his tone noticeably more cheerful, "Ah, good evening, Mrs. Monroe; so nice to see you; how lovely you look tonight," he gave her that sycophantic smile that Bass always wanted to punch right off his face. Charlotte looked at him but didn't answer as if she hoped not saying anything would make him go away. "You asked to see me?" he asked, turning his attention to Monroe. At least he'd learned not to sit down until he was asked to.

Charlotte seemed just as annoyed as Monroe was and it made him smile to himself. Not wanting to talk to the man any more than absolutely necessary, he got straight to the point, "Did she finish?"

"Yes; all five amplifiers are operational."

Monroe was pleased, but wanted the man to leave yesterday, "Thank you. That'll be all. Send in Wright on your way out," he said curtly.

"Good evening, General, Mrs. Monroe," he said nodding slightly at each before heading for the door.

As Flynn was walking away, Charlotte leaned closer to Monroe. "He really creeps me out," she said softly so that only he would hear.

"I don't like him either," he said just as quietly, kissing her on the temple again. "But he's very useful. Because of his help, I didn't have to fire a single shot to take Georgia." She scoffed. "I should think that'd make you happy that I didn't have to kill anyone in the process."

"You didn't _need_ to take Georgia at all." Now _there_ was some of the fire he loved!

He chuckled softly. "That's a debate for another time."

Monroe looked up to see Sergeant Wright standing at attention in the same place Flynn had stood, waiting to be acknowledged. "Is everything in place?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go tell Diaz it's on." Wright nodded, turned on his heel, and left the room. After his talk with Rachel that morning, he'd made arrangements that if she finished her work, for Danny's guards to be ready to take him to Rachel's quarters at dinnertime.

Bass turned back to Charlotte, she was looking at him suspiciously; she knew Diaz was one of Danny's regular guards. "What's wrong with Danny?" she asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

Bass chuckled, "Nothing." He removed his arm from around her shoulders and took her hand, "Actually, I have a Christmas present for you," he said smiling. He stood, pulling her up with him.

He put his arm out for her to take. She looked unsure, but she seemed to be catching on.

As they were walking out, he thought he saw something move near the display cabinet by the door. This was the third time that day and it was really getting on his nerves. First the 'snow' outside the workshop window - he'd later found out it wasn't snowing - and then at lunch, he thought he saw someone standing in the corner of his quarters. '_Must be a trick of the candlelight._'

They walked into another section of Independence Hall where the guest quarters were, taking the long way to give Wright time to give Diaz the signal, to the hallway where Danny's quarters were and stopped near his door. Charlotte tightened her grip on Monroe's arm, but he could tell she was excited rather than scared and he patted her hand and smiled at her.

The door opened to reveal Danny and Sergeant Diaz. Charlotte and Danny smiled nervously at each other as he came out. Sergeant Wright also came out of the room to join the group. Monroe allowed Danny to walk next to Charlotte and they held hands as they headed farther down the hall. "What's happening?" Danny asked his sister.

"I'm not sure," she glanced sideways at Monroe then turned back to Danny, "something about a Christmas present." Monroe chuckled softly; she really did amuse him sometimes.

They stopped at another door at the end of the hall flanked on either side by two guards like Danny's. She let go of Monroe's arm as he moved to take a key out of his pocket. Charlotte looked up at him; she was _almost_ smiling, which made him smile. He couldn't help himself, it'd been so long since she'd even come close to smiling; he leaned down to give her a quick kiss. She kissed him back automatically.

He unlocked and opened the door and walked into the room, Wright and Diaz entering behind him. Rachel was sitting on the far windowsill staring out the window. She looked up, when she saw them; she smiled broadly and bounded over to her children who'd also ran to her, ending up in a group hug near the middle of the room. After a long moment when nobody said anything to him, Monroe began to feel offended that his act of kindness was going unnoticed. "A 'thank you' would be nice," he said indignantly.

Rachel and Danny just stood there looking at him, but Charlotte turned to face him and spoke up, her tone more placating than grateful, "Thank you, Bass."

He moved to stand in front of her. "You're welcome, Charlotte." He took her face in his hands and bent down to give her another kiss, this time more lingering, making it a point to show Rachel as much PDA as he felt he could in front subordinates. After all, Charlotte was the First Lady; she deserved to be treated with respect. He couldn't see Rachel's face but he could sense the daggers she was looking into him; he laughed to himself.

He broke the kiss, but kept his hands on her face. "Since it's Christmas and she finished all her work, I decided to let you and Danny spend the night with your mother." He turned to Rachel moving one hand to Charlotte's shoulder, the other to his side before continuing, "_But_, Wright and Diaz," he gestured to the two men standing near the door, "they'll be staying in here watching and listening to _everything_. So, if you say _anything_ to confuse or turn Charlotte _or_ Danny against me, or plan an escape... they'll take them out of here and it might be _years_ before you see them again - _if_ you see them again. _Is_ that understood, Rachel?"

She nodded weakly, "Yes," she whispered.

He turned back to Charlotte and leaned close to her ear, "I'll miss you." He smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and let it linger there. "Enjoy your visit. I'll see you tomorrow." Turning to the others he said, "Good night, Danny, Rachel," dismissively. Putting his hands in his pockets, he turned and went to the door.

"You can have their dinners brought in now," he said to Wright before closing the door behind him.

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Hours later, near midnight, while Charlotte was visiting her family, Monroe found himself alone in their quarters for the first time since before their wedding. He sat in the armchair by the fireplace reading a book, trying not to think about her, but it wasn't working. He knew it'd only be for one night, but he missed her. He was tempted to go get her, but decided against it. It would just make him look weak if he couldn't make it _one night_ without his wife.

Neither of them enjoyed their first night together; he didn't threaten or force her, but she gave in, likely out of fear he'd hurt her family. But, a few days later, everything changed; he found her holding a picture of he and Miles that she'd found in one of his drawers. Initially, he was angry that she'd gone through his things, but he saw the look on her face, she was so sad he just couldn't stay angry. She asked him about the picture; it'd been taken the last time they were on leave together in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, not long before the Blackout. He'd found himself telling her about that trip, about his family, Shelley, and how Miles was all the family he'd had left and how much he missed him. By then, they were both crying and holding each other, and it just sort of happened; she'd let herself forget who he was for a while and just accepted the comfort he'd offered her. Since then, they'd become each other's drug of choice to numb the pain of their shared grief. Deep down, he knew she didn't love him, but being with her was the closest thing to love he'd had in years, so he accepted it. He and Charlotte had gotten so lost in each other, that when Randall Flynn arrived a week after the wedding, Monroe made him wait for almost a week before he'd see him; Flynn finally threatened to take his help to Georgia instead.

He was tired, but still too wound up to sleep. He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to ease the slight headache he'd had all afternoon. Finally giving up on the book, he put it down on the end table next to the chair and got up to get a drink from the sideboard. He suddenly felt like he was being watched, as if he was no longer alone. He looked up and caught sight of the grandfather clock, but it wasn't the time he saw; it was Miles' face watching him - glaring at him. He gulped down the whiskey and tried to put it out of his mind; obviously, he was just seeing things, like he had been all day. After he downed that glass, he poured another and downed that one in one gulp too. He was still upset over his brother's death, that's all.

He turned to go back to the chair to try the book again, determined to ignore his paranoia and concentrate this time, only to see Miles' face again in the flames in the fireplace. He threw the empty glass still in his hand at it and it shattered against one of the andirons. He heard Miles' voice coming from somewhere in the room, "You missed, prick!" Now he knew he wasn't just seeing things; he was loosing his mind.

He turned around to see if he could find the source - maybe one of the guards had come into the room - and saw _Miles_, floating in the middle of the room near the ceiling. He was wearing the same clothes as the day he died, but there were chains with padlocks and keys attached to some of the links wrapped around his shoulders and waist and hanging down to the floor. "What do you think of the chains? They were Aaron's idea; actually, this whole 'Scrooge' bit was. I think they're a bit much, but Aaron insisted on authenticity..." He may be dead, but his sarcastic wit was alive and well.

Bass just stood there gaping at the apparition unsure what was really happening. "I'm supposed to be Jacob Marley, by the way, you know, incase you didn't already figure that out," Miles deadpanned.

After few seconds, Bass finally found his voice, "Are you here to kill me?" At that point, he didn't really care if the answer was yes, he was so happy to see Miles, and even though it _had_ to be a dream, he'd go with it, whatever happened.

"No Bass, I'm here to save your _sorry_ ass," he floated down so that he was standing on the floor.

Miles walked, his chains rattling as they were dragged behind him but his footsteps made no sound, over to the sideboard and stared longingly at the whiskey bottle there, Bass turned on the spot he was rooted to to watch him, "Damn! Sure could use a drink right now," he muttered, glaring at Bass.

Bass was still recovering from shock, but realization of everything Miles had said finally began to sink in, "All that stuff I've been seeing all day, that was you." Miles nodded and Bass went on, "Aaron? Why do I know that name?" He paused a few seconds trying to remember where he'd heard, or read, the name recently, his mind working better now. "You mean Pittman?" Another pause, "And what do you mean you're here to save me?"

Miles heaved a sigh "Yeah, Bass; Aaron Pittman. You got him killed when you attacked the rebel camps, oh, and Nora too, by the way," he said with a scowl. "As for saving you, I'd _rather_ let you _rot_, but crazy as it sounds, you're the _only_ one who can help my family and get rid of those sons-of-bitches you're working with."

Bass ignored the part about letting him rot and addressed the part that was important to him, "What 'sons-of-bitches?" Bas thought about it for a second, "Flynn? But he's helped us, Miles. 'Cause of him, in only a year, we'll have the whole continent."

Miles scoffed and rolled his eyes, "It's the guys he's with, they're _bad news_, downright evil in fact. Bass, you keep listening to them and they're gonna destroy _everything_ we _ever_ gave a damn about. You need a wakeup call and you need it _now_! Hence the 'Scrooge' routine."

Bass just stood there not knowing what to say. He didn't trust Randall Flynn as far as he could throw a Sherman tank, but since The Republic was _all_ that mattered to him, he'd ignored his instincts in favor of the advantages Flynn offered.

With Bass's silence, Miles went on, "So... you'll be visited by three ghosts." He sighed exasperatedly, "This is ridiculous!" Miles glanced up at the ceiling, "if you weren't already dead, Aaron...," Miles muttered before continuing his spiel, "The first at 1AM, the second at... aw hell you've read the book, you know the drill."

"You couldn't just _tell_ me what I need to know yourself?" He really wished Miles would stop being so vague. If Flynn really was as bad as Miles was saying, he really needed to know and he'd rather hear it from Miles himself than 'ghosts' he still didn't believe in.

Miles shook his head. "It's not enough for me to tell you, you need to _see_ where you went wrong, and what's really going on, and what'll happen if you keep going the way you have been, or it just won't take and you won't change."

Miles looked longingly at the whiskey again for a moment, glanced up at the clock, and walked back to the middle of the room; again, the clattering of his chains the only sound. "Well, Bass, it's been fun," he scoffed, "but I gotta go now, it's almost time for the first ghost to show up." He snapped his fingers, "Oh, almost forgot; just so you know... all the ghosts are people whose deaths you're responsible for," he smirked.

Bass started toward Miles, moving from his spot for the fist time since his arrival, "No, wait! Don't go!" he said as he fell to his knees, desperation in his voice, his hand moving toward his sidearm. He wanted to join his brother; nothing else mattered in that moment; all Bass knew was that his friend was leaving him _again_.

Miles seemed to know what he was thinking; his shoulders slumped and he turned to face him, "No Bass! You can't be with me 'cause I'm in Purgatory; apparently," he shrugged, "I'm not beyond redemption, but, at this point, you _are_; you'll just go straight to Hell if you end it now. Just hang in there one more night. You'll see things differently in the morning... I promise. And well..." he shrugged, "you _might_ see me again."

With that, Miles disappeared and Bass was alone again. A single tear streamed down his cheek.

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><p>Not 100% happy with it, but hopefully that's just my insecurity talking. As of right now, This story has a total of 6 chapters and I'm hoping to have them all posted by New Years, but I can't promise that.<p>

PS - _Please_, if you're not already involved or if you've taken a break/given up, join/come back to our movement on Twitter and/or Facebook to #RelocateRevolution. We _need_ everyone in on this to have _any_ hope of getting Revolution picked up or a movie made to give us closure for our beloved characters!


	2. Ghosts of Christmases Past

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update! Writing this story is a lot harder than I thought it'd be. Psychoanalyzing Bass ain't easy!

I have the rest mapped out (in my head, at least) so _hopefully_ the rest'll be easier and the updates'll be quicker.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, favorited, etc. 3 U All!

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><p>Ghosts of Christmases Past<p>

Monroe was slumped over on the floor where he'd fallen to his knees, his face buried in his hands. He had no idea how long he'd been there; the way he felt, it could've been hours. He finally decided to go to bed, but just couldn't seem to get himself off the floor. All he managed was to roll over into a fetal position.

Monroe wasn't sure what'd happened. If it _had_ been just a dream, what was his subconscious trying to tell him? If it was _real_, he dreaded what would come next. He had indeed read the book and he didn't look forward to seeing the things the ghosts would surely show him; _especially_ the third one.

He jerked reflexively when he heard the grandfather clock behind him begin to chime, and he knew it must be 1AM. He braced himself for the first ghost's visit, but nothing happened. '_It really _was_ just a dream._' He felt both relieved and sorry; relieved because it meant he was off the hook, sorry because it meant Miles hadn't really been there, and that he was truly loosing his mind.

After what seemed like a long time, Monroe finally began to relax and thought again about going to bed, but then someone cleared his throat behind him. He quickly turned and sat up to find the source, prepared to defend himself if necessary, though what defense he'd have against a ghost, he didn't know. A man was crouched on the floor a few feet away; he seemed to be studying Monroe, his expression unreadable. He was quite a bit older than when Monroe last saw him _years_ before the Blackout, but there was no mistaking Ben Matheson.

He suddenly remembered what Miles had said about the ghosts and he was afraid. In a panic, Monroe tried to get up, but his legs fell out from under him. He only managed to scramble away across the floor until his back was up against the wardrobe on the other side of the room, his eyes never leaving Ben as he went.

He froze when Ben spoke, "You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled as he stood up. "Sorry, couldn't resist," giving Monroe a wry smile, "I guess Miles didn't warn you." Monroe only managed a nod. Miles had warned him, if only cryptically, but he just wasn't prepared for the shock of seeing Charlotte's dead father.

Monroe was bewildered by Ben's apparent lack of anger for causing his death, "You're not angry...? You don't... blame me...?"

Ben shook his head; his expression was neutral. "You didn't kill me yourself, or give the order. You _do_ share _some_ of the blame...," he lowered his head for a moment and looked back up, "but so do a lot of people..."

Monroe was surprised by Ben's attitude, but he could see Ben was holding something back; he decided to put that aside for the moment. He believed Ben didn't hold a grudge, but he still doubted his motives, "Why are you helping me?"

"All of us have our own reasons; _I_ have three," he counted off each with his fingers, "Rachel, Charlie, and Danny. You're the _only_ one who can let them go."

'_That's not gonna happen,_' Bass thought. There was no way he could ever let Charlotte go; she was the only thing keeping him together since Miles' death.

Ben continued, "In a nutshell, as 'the Ghost of Christmases Past'," he made air quotes as he spoke the last words, "I'm here to remind you who you once were, and that you can be him again."

Ben walked closer to him, his footsteps just as silent as Miles' had been; it was just as unnerving, but at least he wasn't wearing any chains. He reached down a hand for Monroe to take, after hesitating a few moments, Monroe leaned forward and took it; he was surprised his hand didn't just pass right through as Ben helped him to his feet.

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As soon as he was standing, his quarters began to fade away and another room came into view. Monroe recognized it immediately; he and Ben were now standing in the doorway of the living room of his childhood home in Jasper.

Monroe took a few steps into the room and turned in place as he looked around; it was exactly as he remembered it. The room was decorated for Christmas, evergreen garland and paper chains he and his sister had made hanging on the walls, a large wreath over the fireplace, and the big Christmas tree in the middle of the front window so it could be seen from outside.

It was Christmas morning and Young Bass and his younger sister, Cynthia, were sitting on the floor near the tree opening their presents. By the look of things - torn wrapping paper, ribbons, and toys strewn all over the floor - they'd been at it for a while. His mom and dad sat on the sofa watching them, holding hands and smiling; their own presents already opened and sitting on the coffee table. Bass guessed it must've been 1994 by the sight of his very pregnant mother. Which meant he'd been about 12 and Cyinie 3.

Bass was overcome with emotion seeing his family again; they were all so happy. Even after nearly twenty years, he still missed them. Bass moved toward his parents crouching next to the sofa in front of them, "Mom! Dad! It's me...," he said, choking back tears. When they didn't answer, he turned in place and made to go over to Cynie, who was happily playing with the set of dinosaurs she'd just opened.

But Ben's voice stopped him, "They can't see us. It's like we're watching a home movie, we can't interact with it." Bass turned back to his parents and moved his hand in front of their faces to make sure. He wanted so much for that not to be true, but they really didn't see him. He heaved a sad sigh as he brought his hand back down.

His father sat up straighter, smiling more broadly, and put his hand on his wife's leg. Bass followed their gaze to his younger self and sat down on the floor to watch. Young Bass had just picked up what had turned out to be a special gift, and even though he was sad, Bass couldn't help smiling as he watched his younger self.

Young Bass tore into the Batman-themed wrapping paper excitedly. Bass remembered that he'd saved that one for last: he'd seen it under the tree the night before and guessed, by the size and weight of the box, that it _might_ be the thing he wanted most that year.

Bass glanced at Ben, who was still standing in the doorway, leaning against its frame, his arms crossed against his chest, also watching Young Bass, "The first Playstation!" he chuckled. "Me and Miles both asked for one hoping at least one of us would get it and he got one too!" He chuckled again and smiled happily at the memory.

As his older self spoke to Ben, Young Bass finished opening his new Playstation game console, and the two games wrapped with it, "YES!" he said excitedly, pumping his fist.

Gail leaned over to her husband, "I swear you bought that for yourself," she teased. Bill just gave her a shrug and a sheepish grin.

Cynthia moved closer to her brother to get a better look at the box in his lap, "What's dis, Bassie?"

Ben chuckled, "I think you spent more time at our house playing ours than you did yours."

Bass turned to Ben, smiling, "That's 'cause you guys had better games. They," he tilted his head toward his parents,"wouldn't let me get the coolest games 'cause of Cynie, but I didn't mind; I didn't want her playing those games either."

Bass turned back and saw that at some point during him and Ben's exchange, Cynthia had decided her own toys were more interesting and went back to her new dinosaurs. He had explained the game console to her and told her about the games he was sure she'd like, but she'd never gotten into video games as much as he and Miles had been; neither had Angela when she'd been old enough. They'd both preferred to read books.

Young Bass jumped up, "I'm gonna go call Miles!" From the corner of his eye, Bass saw Ben smile and shake his head slightly.

Bill moved to the edge of the sofa, "Why don't _we_ get it hooked up and try it out first; make sure it works; OK, buddy?" he said, moving toward Young Bass.

Bass turned to his mother in time to see her cross her arms and murmur, "Mm-hm." She shook her head in mock disgust, smiling broadly at her 'two boys', as she'd often call him and his dad. He'd forgotten that; he smiled at the reminder.

"OK, dad!" Young Bass answered. Bass remembered he had realized the first play should be with his dad.

Young Bass and his dad went over to the TV in the corner to hook up the new game console. As they were moving the TV to access its back, Cynthia suddenly started to cry. Gail _attempted_ to get off the sofa, which was difficult in her condition, to help her daughter, but Young Bass beat her to it. Bass also instinctively started to go to his sister, but stopped when he remembered she couldn't see him. He sighed sadly, as he sat back down heavily. "It broke," she cried. A leg had come off one of her new dinosaurs.

Young Bass knelt down on the floor next to her, "It's OK, Cynie," he put his hand on her shoulder. "It's not broken. Here, see," he took the pieces from her and snapped the leg back onto its body, "good as new!" Cynthia immediately stopped crying, smiled, and hugged her brother. He hugged her back and kissed her cheek. She'd gotten other toys too, but Bass remembered those dinosaurs had been her favorites that year.

"Play with me," she demanded, her crisis already forgotten. Young Bass happily sat down, picked up another dinosaur, and played with her. He could never say no to his little sisters.

Watching his younger self playing with his sister, and his dad hooking up the console, Bass was reminded that he and Cynthia had played together until lunchtime. After lunch, he and his dad played video games for hours until Miles called late in the afternoon to brag that he'd gotten a Playstation and whatever the coolest game at the time was; Bass couldn't remember which one. He laughed to himself. He and Miles didn't get together until the next day, but they'd played video games all day.

Ben's voice broke him out of his thoughts, "You were a good kid, Bass. You always put your family first; you loved them more than anyone else - even Miles." Ben paused for a moment, "You used to love more outwardly than, probably, anyone else I've ever known."

Bass absorbed Ben's words and looked at his parents for a long moment and looked back at Ben, "I miss them," he sighed. He turned back to them for a moment longer before his gaze moved to Cynthia still happily playing with his younger self and laughing, "I loved being a big brother," he said softly, sniffing and holding back tears. "That's something Miles never had," he looked at Ben, a fellow big brother, knowingly. He remembered he'd been excited about his new sister who'd be born early the following year; he would've loved a brother too, of course, but he didn't _need_ another one.

"It's time for us to go, Bass," Ben said sadly as he approached Bass, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"No! Not yet," Bass pleaded. He wasn't ready to leave.

"We don't have time for you to relive your whole childhood! It'll be time for the next ghost soon and there're still a couple things I need to show you yet." Bass looked at his family again and finally nodded reluctantly, stood up, and took Ben's offered hand, taking one last longing look as the living room, and his family, faded away.

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A new room came into view; this time they were standing in the middle of the living room of a small condo Monroe vaguely remembered staying at a few days while he and Miles were in Chicago to visit Ben and his family one Christmas before the Blackout. There were no Christmas decorations here, but that was because the friend whose condo it was had been out of town celebrating with his own family.

Monroe looked around the room as Ben stood silently watching him; he seemed to be waiting for something but Monroe wasn't quite sure what. At first, he thought the room was empty, but then he noticed a man lying on his stomach on the floor in front of the sofa, partially hidden by the noticeably displaced coffee table, with an empty tequila bottle next to his hand, and realized it was his 28-year-old self. He remembered sitting down on the sofa, trying to find something worth watching on TV, having no luck, and then finding the tequila in the kitchen, but not how he'd ended up passed out on the floor. Seeing it all again though, made the details begin to come back to him, and unlike the last memory Ben showed him, this one wasn't a happy one.

It was almost two years before the Blackout and was the first Christmas since Bass's family had been killed by a drunk driver. Miles had gone out around noon to find last-minute gifts for his family; he hadn't wanted to take a bunch of things on the plane with them, so he'd decided to shop once they got to Chicago. He'd said he'd be gone for only a couple hours, but since it was Christmas Eve, he was gone much longer by the time Bass had sat down with the bottle. He had been doing better dealing with his grief once he'd been put back on active duty, but once it got to be Christmas, he just fell apart again. Thanksgiving hadn't been a picnic either, but he hadn't been on leave then, so with work to focus on, it'd been easier to get through.

They were supposed to go to Ben and Rachel's that evening for dinner and stay overnight to spend Christmas Day with them and the kids. Miles had thought Bass made it through Thanksgiving better than he really had and thought he was ready. It'd been years since Miles had spent Christmas with his own family and he thought Bass would enjoy it too, and maybe it'd start a new tradition for him, they were Bass's friends too, after all. But Bass had ruined that plan...

Monroe heard a key in the lock of the front door and turned his gaze from his younger self. As he turned toward the door, he caught sight of a clock on the wall that indicated it was 7:30PM, before seeing the door open to reveal Miles. "Sorry it took so _long_," he called as he closed the door. "The mall was a _nightmare_." Miles muttered under his breath as he put his bags on the floor near the door and put the keys on the kitchen island, and came farther into the condo, "You here, Bass?"

As Monroe was watching Miles, he noticed Ben was now watching Miles too. Apparently, whatever he'd been waiting for was about to happen.

After checking the bedrooms, Miles came back to the living room and spotted Bass where he lay on the floor. His shoulders slumped, "Dammit, Bass! I can't leave you alone for just a couple hours?" He heaved a sigh and went over to check him, "You better not be dead," he grumbled as he turned Bass over roughly, Bass groaned at the disturbance.

Miles was muttering again as he picked up the bottle off the floor and sat down on the coffee table. He slammed it down disgustedly on the table next to him, took out his cell phone, and dialed. After a few seconds, "Hey, it's me... _Yeah_, we're not gonna make it tonight; Bass is a mess... Yeah, he's passed out. Found him on the floor when I got back from the mall. _Yeah_, I know; should'a made him come with," he sighed. "Yeah, so, we'll come by Sunday before we head out... Merry Christmas... Yeah... Kiss the kids for me... Bye." He closed the phone with a snap and put it back in his pocket. He heaved a sigh before standing. Staring down at Bass, he shook his head, "I _guess_ it _was_ too soon," he whispered.

Monroe watched as Miles tried to pick his younger self up off the floor, "It's alright, Bass," Miles groaned as he lifted Bass's shoulders, "I didn't really want to go," he added resignedly. Monroe could see Miles was lying and it made him feel bad all over again. When Bass had woken up late the next day, he'd felt terrible for making Miles miss Christmas with his family. But now he felt worse; as things had turned out, with the nature of leave in the Marines and the Blackout two years later, it had been the last time Miles could've spent Christmas with them.

Monroe couldn't take it anymore, he moved to stand in front of Ben, "Why did you show me this?" he demanded, gesturing to Miles and his younger, unconscious self. "This isn't a happy memory! I thought you were supposed to remind me of good things!"

"You need to see where you went wrong too," Ben said sympathetically. Monroe opened his mouth to object, but Ben continued, "This was about the time you started to rely _too_ heavily on Miles. You never had any other _close_ friends, so he _let_ you, and you took _full_ advantage. It's when you started doing almost anything to keep from being alone, but you wouldn't let anyone else get _too_ close either." Monroe looked down at the floor, he'd never heard it put into words before, but he knew Ben was right; still, he didn't like hearing it, "Why didn't you just go to the mall with him?"

He looked back up, "I hate shopping..." That was true, Monroe did hate shopping, but it wasn't the whole truth. He inhaled deeply, letting his breath out slowly and turned to face the scene in front of him, "I couldn't stand to be around all those happy people... I thought I could handle the time alone," he took another deep breath and bowed his head again, "but then..., I turned on the TV..." he remembered now exactly how he came to be on the floor, "my mom's favorite Christmas movie was on... I lost it...," he sighed sadly, "then I found the tequila..."

He looked back up to see that Miles had finally succeeded in getting Bass's limp form up onto the sofa and then putting the coffee table back into place. Bass groaned softly again as Miles covered him with a throw that'd been on the back of the sofa.

Ben moved closer to Monroe, "Things did get better, though," he said, his tone lighter. He put his hand on Monroe's shoulder, and again, the scene began to change.

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When everything came into focus again, Monroe looked around to see that this time they were outside; it was night and they were standing near a large campfire surrounded by about twenty people. Some were sitting in old chairs or on a log, others were sitting on coolers or overturned crates or on blankets on the ground, a few others were standing nearby, away from the fire. Everyone around the fire was singing 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'.

Monroe recognized everyone; it was the camp he and Miles had started after rescuing Jeremy Baker from thugs and deciding they should help the people they met as they'd wandered around after the Blackout. Many of them would later be among the first to join the Monroe Militia. He saw Miles standing next to one of the tents with Jim Hudson and Dave Kipling passing around a flask, completely ignoring the group around the fire; Miles 'didn't _do_ sing-alongs'. Around the fire were Jeremy and his then-girlfriend Lydia on a blanket; Tom, Julia, and Jason Neville were all in old folding lawn chairs; some others who'd only been with the camp a short time whose names he'd forgotten were there too. His 33-year-old self and Shelley were on the log, arms around each other and big smiles on their faces as they both sang. Monroe's heart both leapt and sank at the sight of Shelley; he wanted so much to go to her, but he knew she couldn't see him.

It had been a little over two years since the Blackout and it was the camp's, and he and Shelley's, first _and last_ Christmas celebration; the last Christmas he'd even acknowledged. The 'party' had been Shelley and her best friend Lydia's idea 'to bring back some semblance of normalcy to their little corner of the world,' as they'd put it. It hadn't been anything fancy: no decorations, no four-course feast, no organized gift exchange. It was just a simple meal of venison stew followed by Christmas Carols around the fire, but it'd had the desired effect; everyone had a good time, if only for a couple hours. Except _maybe_ the Nevilles; even then, everything Julia and Tom did had to have a purpose. They'd ingratiate themselves to whoever was 'in charge' (or those closely connected to same) and do _whatever_ would get themselves ahead. Which is _why_ Monroe kept them around - better to keep people like that close.

Monroe stood staring at Shelley; she'd been so happy that night, they both were. Ben's voice from behind him, interrupted his thoughts, "You'd found yourself again and your friendship with Miles was healthy again too... as healthy as it'd ever been, anyway." Monroe turned and gave him a warning glance; Ben shrugged slightly, "After the Blackout, you'd actually thought about walking away from Miles when he started acting like a vigilante. You even stood up to him later when he wanted to raid the other camp," Monroe nodded his agreement; he'd actually forgotten about that. Ben moved to stand beside him, "And... you fell in love...," he gestured to Shelley." Monroe sighed longingly; he had indeed loved her. Ben moved his hand to indicate Jeremy and Monroe's gaze followed, "You and Jeremy became good friends too."

Since 'arriving' here, Monroe had avoided thinking about Jeremy, but seeing him now, singing the loudest and most off-key of the group, Monroe felt guilty for killing him; his last _real_ friend. But he couldn't dwell on it; he'd been _sure_ at the time that Jeremy was guilty of trying to assassinate him, and Jeremy would've been _the first_ to suggest that the suspect be killed if it'd been anyone else. Jeremy had been the kind of officer willing to sacrifice himself and the men under his command for the good of the Republic. He really had been _that_ loyal. Monroe forced the guilt from his mind again as he continued to watch the scene in front of him.

The group finished singing; Julia Neville stood and announced they were turning in and Tom and Jason followed, wishing everyone 'good night'. A few others also left. Everyone still around the fire waved or murmured 'good night' as they continued to talk and laugh but the party was winding down. Monroe remembered sadly that he and Shelley would soon 'turn in' too.

Ben spoke again, turning Monroe's attention back to Shelley, "When you were alone later is when she told you she was pregnant, wasn't it?" Something else Monroe tried not to think about.

Monroe nodded and brought his hand to his face as he began to sob, "I gave her a book I'd found earlier that week..." he paused, trying to remember the details, "some romance novel, I think... the cover was missing... She loved them." Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, "Then she gave me her gift: _our child_," his voice faltered and he buried his face in both hands. When she'd given him the news, he'd felt real hope for the future for the first time since loosing his family.

Ben stood silently beside him as Monroe continued to cry. His sadness was turning to anger thinking about the life he could've had and all the horrible things he _wouldn't_ have done if Shelley and their child had lived... if the Blackout hadn't happened... He finally reached his boiling point and got in Ben's face, poking him in the chest, causing him to take a step back, "It's your fault she's dead!" Monroe had long suspected Ben had something to do with the Blackout, and he remembered Ben was holding something back earlier, "_You_ caused _it_, didn't you?"

"I _helped_ cause the Blackout, yes," Ben lowered his head as if in shame, "and _millions_ have died because of it." Ben looked back up at Monroe, his eyes haunted. Monroe opened his mouth to speak; he wanted answers, but Ben cut him off, his voice determined, "But, this isn't about me, right now! _This_ is about _you_ and what you need to know to save my family, yourself, and _many others_!" As if Ben could tell Monroe wasn't going to let it go that easily, he added, "There's _no time_ to give you all the details, but I _promise_, at least, some of your questions will be answered before the night's over."

Monroe took a deep breath and reigned himself in; he realized it was pointless to take it out on Ben. Ben was already dead, and apparently, in Purgatory with Miles; _how_ he ended up there instead of Hell was beyond him. He wanted _someone_ to pay, though, but it wouldn't be Ben.

Ben went on, "After they died, you only let Miles in, and you did whatever you _thought_ he wanted to keep him from leaving you. Funny thing is... Miles became what he thought you needed him to be too; you _both_ dragged each other down. I don't think you're even aware of it, but when Miles finally had enough and left, you set out to destroy the thing you both built - you made your own country bleed just to get back at him." Monroe hadn't ever thought about that before, but it made sense.

Ben looked for a moment as if he was trying to make a decision, "You took some of your anger out on Rachel, too." Monroe stiffened, wondering if Ben _knew_. He saw a flash of anger cross Ben's face and thought he was going to say something more, but then it was gone. Monroe never gave much thought to _that night_; it was only the one time and meant nothing to him, or Rachel.

Ben continued, his expression neutral again, "Now, you can change everything; you have a chance to do the right thing - save lives... _And_ you can be happy again." He paused for a long moment before continuing, "Let go of the bitterness over everything you've lost; let yourself be a good man again. Let yourself love again..."

Monroe heard and understood everything Ben just said, but his mind seized on one thing, he looked at Shelley for a long moment, "I can be happy again?" he said full of longing for a new beginning, he turned back to Ben, "With Charlotte..."

Ben's expression darkened and Monroe felt a surge of panic. Seeing the look on Ben's face and thinking about Shelley made him worry that something similar was going to happen to Charlotte, "There's something you're not telling me? She's not going to...," he trailed off, unable to say the word, he just couldn't loose her too, "is she?"

Ben's expression became uncertain, "I don't know," he shrugged slightly. "I can only show you _your_ past, not what _will_ happen. But, if you heed everything we're telling you, she _should_ be ok. I _hate_ everything you've done to her," the flash of anger was back, more intensely this time, "_and_ Rachel and Danny. None of it can't be undone, but letting them go is the right thing to do, Bass."

Monroe looked Ben squarely in the eye, "I can't do that, Ben! I _need_ her," he sounded desperate, even to himself. He wanted to have the kind of relationship with her that he'd had with Shelley.

Ben lowered his head and sighed resignedly as if he'd given up. Ben touched Monroe's shoulder again and the camp began to fade away.

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Monroe was suddenly standing in his quarters again; alone. He looked around to make sure, but Ben apparently didn't return with him. He hadn't been ready; he was still worried about Charlotte and had more questions about her wellbeing, and he'd wanted to tell Ben he hadn't hurt her - that he'd never hurt her; he just couldn't ever let her leave him.

'_What's next?_' he thought, dreading the answer. Ben had already put him through the proverbial wringer emotionally, and he couldn't imagine what the other ghosts would show him, but he was resigned to letting this Scrooge business play out - if for no other reason than to get it _over with_. He'd seen enough to realize it probably really was happening, so he felt a little bit of hope, too. Any 'Scrooge' adaptation he'd ever seen always had a happy ending.

He turned to look at the clock when he heard the noises it made before chiming; it was 2AM. '_Bring it on!_' he sighed to himself. Maybe the next ghost would take him to Charlotte.


End file.
